


Princess of Fire, Art of a Liar

by Ramzes



Series: The Flash of a Star: The Dyanna Dayne Chronicles [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5873374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summerhall is the greatest gift that Daeron II could make to the son who had helped winning the battle of Redgrass Field for him. It is also a land mined with dangers - for the Seven Kingdoms and the hearts of those who are coming to live there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princess of Fire, Art of a Liar

"Should I sleep, or should I bathe?" Maekar asked as soon as he entered Dyanna's solar and fell into a chair, closing his eyes. "I could sleep in the tub," he added, slurring his words.

"You can't," Dyanna said prosaically. "You bathe so hot that there's no way I can save you from drowning without scalding myself."

That was one of the things they differed greatly in. Quite early into their marriage, they had discovered that Maekar could share the tub in the bath adjacent to their bedchambers when it had been prepared to Dyanna's liking but the reverse was not true. As she looked at him, his fair hair matted with sweat and the salt and smoke of the harbors clinging to him like a second skin, she didn't need words to know that he had had an extremely long and tiring day in a very long and tiring week.

To think that she had expected that things would get less strained after the traitorous uprising had been dealt with! Instead, Westeros had gained security like the one it hadn't known since Daemon Blackfyre had started listening to the wrong people but its recovery was such a hard one. So much blood had been shed. So many mothers did not have men to keep them and their children fed. So much damage had been caused to village and towns, crops and relations between minor regions. At least the Great Houses had stood behind the King as one, so there were no grievances between them – for the first time, as far as Dyanna could say. But the King, his Small Council and other men and those of his sons who were able to now lost so much time in reorganizing matters. In fact, this was the first time in more than a month that she had seen Maekar and the King in the same chamber unless it was the evening feast for which they usually also arrived at different times.

Her eyes went to her goodfather who was smiling as Daeron read a few lines from a book with just one mistake. The King had arrived a short time ago saying that he wanted to talk to Maekar and he had stayed to wait for him, entertaining himself with his grandson as Dyanna went through her household accounts. Now, she looked at them and her goodfather put a finger to his lips.

Finally, Maekar opened his eyes and noticed his father's presence. He rose to bow and immediately dropped back in his chair. "You should have told me you were here," he said.

"Why?" the King asked. "I wanted you to have some rest. And I enjoyed reading with Daeron. That was one of the things I rarely found time to do with you, wasn't it?"

"Indeed it was," Maekar agreed and there was a sudden flash of a smile in his eyes. "Aerys always found the time, alas."

Daeron snorted out a laugh. "Only until you became big enough to put your foot down."

_Aerys might have made a much better maester than a king's son_ , Dyanna thought. He would have been much happier as one as well. And poor Aelinor could have had a real husband. When she had been desperately afraid of wedding a man who didn't want her, Maekar, she had feared that he would not _like_ her. She hadn't even known that there were men who wouldn't bed their wives. The thought of missing out on this was too terrible to contemplate – not the first months when they had been trying to discover each other's needs, as well as their own, not the sticky sweetness of the following months, not the rediscovery of each other when Dyanna had finally felt ready to accept him almost half a year after the removal of the lesion. Not even those first few times when it had been mostly pain. Yet Aelinor would never know any of those because she was wed to a maester and not prince.

"But why did you want to do it, Father?" Daeron asked, wide-eyed. "Uncle Aerys is nice and he's a better explainer than the Grand Maester."

"This isn't a word," Maekar said mechanically.

Elanal and Astrea entered with goblets of wine and some raisins and other refreshments that Dyanna had ordered after Maekar's return. He took them gratefully. The two Daerons also came near and the King stopped Astrea when she was about to leave. Dyanna liked that.

"Aren't you going to take some?" Maekar asked, looking at her. After the discovery of the lesion, he had undertaken the duty to make sure that she was fed, although her appetite was now greatly diminished compared to her usual one. She took a raisin and ate it for his sake.

"You won't be attending the feast, I gather?" Daeron asked.

Maekar shook his head. "Unless I'm needed, I'd rather stay here."

"It was about time," the King said, taking a seat. Not for the first time, Dyanna noticed the new lines on his face and the constant weary bags under his eyes and hatred throbbed through her again, as fierce as that first day at Starfall. He had been nothing but kind to Daemon and the cur had repaid his kindness with the darkest of betrayals, harsher than the worst nights at the Torentine and more fetid than the stench of King's Landing at the peak of summer.

"What do you mean?" There was a sudden sharp edge in Maekar's eye and Dyanna sighed inwardly. He might have learned not to seek hidden meaning behind her own words but with others, he'd never be entirely free of that. It had been hard enough for her to get his trust in the constancy of her affections, although, as strange as it had felt, he had never doubted the affections themselves.

The King sighed, looking a little dejected. Despite everything, Dyanna felt sorry for him. He had always tried to do his best and there had only been so many hours in any given day. "I mean that you work diligently and never shirk away duties. You rise to attend to the tasks demanding your attention early and stay late into the night each time it's needed. You never reject or delay anything, no matter how inconvenient is might be to you. It was about time to demand a little time for yourself from something that only serves a representative function."

For the first time in a long time, Maekar didn't know what to say. He looked down. Dark flush overcame his fair skin. Daeron went on, calmly. "In fact, I want you to get rested because I have a new duty for you. One that will need a long period and a dedication like yours to get fulfilled. "

This time, Dyanna got angry but before rage got better of her, Daeron went on, "I'm sending you to the Dornish Marches. Summerhall. We need someone to keep the Marcher lords and the ones from the other side of the Dornish Marches in peace with each other. Someone of great abilities, determination, and my full trust in both loyalty and said abilities. I cannot think of anyone who fits those requirements better than you."

To someone else, those words might have sounded prosaic and lacking in emotion but they were just the kind of statement that could reach Maekar on a deeper level than pride. He smiled. "That sounds terrifying but honest."

"Because it is," the King confirmed and paused. "You'll _get_ Summerhall as well."

Now, that was enough to render Maekar's speechless. He stared at the King and finally gave voice to Dyanna's own thoughts. "What?"

Daeron sighed impatiently. "You didn't think that I'd just make use of you without giving anything back, did you? Summerhall is yours, and a title with it, and one day, it'll go to Daeron. That's my decision."

"What about Aerys?" Maekar asked. "He should…"

"He shouldn't anything," the King cut him off. "Anything that isn't Dragonstone is mine to control. Even if I didn't expect anything more of you, you would have already deserved it… And it demands certain makings that your brothers simply doesn't possess. But you do. And Dyanna is of Dorne which should help you with Dornishmen. As a whole, her beauty, charm, learnedness and charms would be your greatest asset after your own abilities. I expect much of the two of you. More than I could expect of anyone else."

For all their sincerity, those weren't the words that would have made Dyanna feel loved and appreciated. But despite having been constantly beset with other, more pressing matters, Daeron the Good had learned a thing or three about his own family. Maekar smiled.

* * *

It turned out that the King hadn't been early at all in sending them here. In fact, he might have been late. What Maekar and Dyanna found was an immaculately maintained castle, already recovering lands, and the mood of old hostilities rearing its ugly head. The shared experience of fighting the traitor together was wearing off – in fact, just two days after their arrival Maekar already found himself beset with letters and pleas – insistence – that he did something about the much vilified neighbours at the respective other side of the Marches. Even Ultor had shown next to none restraint and when he arrived in reply to Maekar's summon, the _next to_ part faded in the matter of an hour.

"Is your fucking brother ordering me to do away with the Marcher lords?" Maekar asked the same night as Dyanna prepared for bed in the faint candlelight that made her feel as beautiful as he saw her.

"No," Dyanna said. He snorted. "Not quite," she amended. "At least he arrived in time," she added. The fact was that almost none of the Marcher Houses had bestirred itself in due time, showing that they were not to be ordered around, even by the King's son. They were making a statement that neither Dyanna nor Maekar liked.

Maekar huffed. For the first time since he had come to know about her lesion, he didn't come over to brush her hair out so it fell on Astrea to do so. Dyanna generally avoided doing it herself because reaching above her shoulder had started pulling again at her newly sensitive breast. Her sister came behind her and took the brush.

"I have half a mind of arranging a match between the two sides of the Dornish Marches," he said and at this, Astrea's breath hissed and in the mirror, Dyanna saw that she was trying to make herself smaller. While Dyanna herself was looked at as if the Maiden or the Mother herself had descended from the sky to bring light to their world, the awe at her beauty was, of course, contained to admiration. But Astrea was very young and unwed; just like at court if not more, here she was stared and almost chased after. Young knights and squires of the arriving lords gawked at her openly. At least one boy, Jena's younger brother, had been caught writing a poem for her – a terrible one, by the way. But in most of those infatuations, there was little respect. Astrea was strikingly beautiful and she was Dornish. Most Marchers probably thought that she had been born loose.

"No," Dyanna said sharply, ready to fight Maekar on this. At the time before their betrothal, she might have thought of him as a Northerner but she had been well aware that he wasn't one. But the Marchers?

"Please," Astra whispered.

He looked irritated, more than anything. "I said _half_ a mind," he said. "I am well aware that a good match between a Dornish lady and a Marcher lord can only take place in fifty years if so." He sighed and came near to take the brush from Astrea. "I am sorry I scared you," he told both of them. "It was Ultor that I'm angry with, not you two."

The girl was quick to escape and as Maekar rubbed Dyanna's breast, she felt that they were mending things. This time. For now.

The next day brought her a new shock. As she crossed the closed yard separating her chambers from the garden – gardening usually helped her focus better – she saw Aerion. Before she could call him over, she saw what he was doing and her breath came out in a hiss out of lungs turned to ice. Her three-year-old son was holding a terrified cat high above his head by the tail and was whirling it around as its mewl of horror and frantic panic echoed all around the yard. And he wouldn't stop.

Dyanna crossed the yard in just a few strides, squeezed Aerion's wrist so tight that he screamed and dropped the cat and immediately slapped him across the cheek so hard that the sapphire on her ring finger left a scratch on his cheek, to match the scratches he had gotten from the poor animal that, once clearing her head, mewled and ran away.

"I don't want you to repeat this," Dyanna said icily, paying no mind to his tears. "Ever! Go to your rooms now, you aren't allowed to play any longer for today."

She looked around for his nursemaid and found her standing by the wall, staring at her petrified. Anger seared through her like the poison of the corroding disease had once. She had had more than one stern conversation with the woman regarding Aerion's behavior towards animals and other children. It was not to be tolerated, yet it had constantly been despite her warnings.

"Your Grace, I…" the woman started.

For a moment, Dyanna hesitated. Aerion's nursemaid had been his wetnurse first, providing him with the milk sustaining his life while Dyanna's breasts had only poured poison. She knew firsthand how charming her son would be. She knew the girl adored him. _That_ was the reason for her looking the other way.

"You can go to my treasurer tonight," she said curtly. "Before you leave."

She turned away, so she wouldn't have to look at the devastation on the other woman's face. Her first responsibility was her son – and the girl wasn't a bad influence but a destructive one.

Sometimes, one had to be cruel to yield good.

"Where is Aerion?" Maekar asked later that night as they held their evening feast.

"He's being punished. I confined him to his rooms," Dyanna replied and changed the topic immediately, for she was afraid of what Maekar would do if it became clear it wasn't Aerion's first time. At any rate, bringing the children up was her responsibility and her failing. There was no need to get him worried when he had other, more pressing matters to attend do.

* * *

"The King had allowed our caravans to make their way through the Marches," Lord Manwoody stated. "And find accommodation on the other side."

"Not demanding it," Osgur Selmy bit back. "The clash was entirely your fault. No one is obliged to give quarters to men they don't like under their roof."

"The King said otherwise," Ultor intervened. ""And while we're at it, it was never stated that our merchants lose their right to place only the discount they wish and not an outrageous one you, yourself, demand just because they happen to pass through your lands. The King's Road is for everyone."

"Not when I'm being robbed."

"What are those demands of maintaining the bed of the Torentime?" Lord Dondarrion demanded.

"Why, your share of those," Lady Blackmont who had arrived on her husband's behalf snapped back. "Did you really think you could evade them forever?"

"Please, everyone," Dyanna tried to intervene. "We aren't getting anywhere. Let's deal with matters one after another. Ultor…"

But her brother wasn't listening to her at all. He was having a staring match with Lord Dondarrion who finally roared, "I can't believe the audacity! First, he arrives to take my daughter to gods' know what twisted fate and now he insists that I bankrupt myself on his behalf."

"To gods' know what twisted fate?" Ultor asked with contempt. "May I remind you that I probably saved her life?"

"That was an accident."

"Please," Dyanna tried to say again. "Can't we resolve this peacefully?"

"No!" one of the men replied without thinking, straight to her face, and it could have been Lord Dondarrion or Lord Wyl, such was the commotion around.

No one was listening to anyone else anymore. Dyanna found it hard to believe that tomorrow, things would look better. If they couldn't go to the end of their first evening feast without quarreling for all the world to see, that didn't bode well. To her horror, Maekar looked furious enough to cut in – and when he was in such mood, he invariably made things worse. Her head started throbbing, fear racing down her limbs.

"Oooh," she groaned. "Ooooh. I feel… faint. Too much… hatred. Bed, Astrea. Take me to bed."

But when her sister rose hurriedly to help her, she let her take her hand and that was it. As Ultor had often said when they were children, she could be the star of any mummer's show. She groaned again, placed a hand to her heart and let it fall just before it reached there, closed her eyes and collapsed on the floor unconscious.

The new confusion was centered all around her. The throbbing in her head was preventing her from actually telling what was going on and it was hard to say with her eyes closed anyway, but the panic in everyone's voice was unmistakable. She felt herself being lifted and carried and soon, the maesters took over. Some time yet later, she opened her eyes and asked, very calmly, "How did it go?"

To her horror, Maekar appeared from her left and stared at her incredulous. She moaned and tugged the pillow over her head. She had thought she was alone with Astrea!

"How did it go?" he repeated, tugging the pillow from her mercilessly. "It was all an act?"

"No," she denied. The lavender room was spinning all around her.

"Try again?"

She was too smart for that, though. "I had to do something before they all came to fists," she tried to explain.

Maekar glared at her. "Couldn't you try weeping or something women do in such situations? No one faints!"

"That's why no one achieves anything," Dyanna explained and rose on her elbow. "If you're cheap on mummers' effects and only start crying, you'll only annoy them. But if you place them into a situation where they have placed your life in danger, that's another thing altogether. They left before things got worse, didn't they? And if we're lucky, they might be able to spend the next few days negotiating with you and between themselves in more measured tone."

He just stared at her and by the look on his face, Dyanna could say that right now, he was regretting his choice to not make use of the chance he had been given to cancel the betrothal to a beautiful, lively, always seeing him Dornish lady…

"Couldn't you at least tell me?" he asked. "After I carried you here? I was sick with worry over you, damn you!"

"If they think they have upset my tender sensitivities, they'll be more timid for a while," Dyanna explained. "The maesters, my maids, the two of you – everyone had to think they have indeed caused the swoon for it to work. I was going to tell you tonight."

"Were you?" he asked skeptically.

"I was," Dyanna said and when she said it, she knew it was true. She wanted to say something more, try to get him to forgive her but this time she fainted – for real. And this time, he didn't believe that it was a real swoon, so Dyanna spent it alone and unattended.

When she regained consciousness, she already knew she was with child.

 


End file.
